Dragon
by Wildly Obsessed
Summary: Hated. Admired. Wanted. He isn't misunderstood, he's not cradling a tragic home life, and he doesn't need your pity. Judge him all you'd like, you know he is an addiction you would drop anything to keep. Warning:Harder side of T, language & Sexual content


**D R AG O N**

My full lips crushed against the lips of the woman who hoped to make me cry out tonight. Her arms pulled me towards her, her fingers entwining in my own. I backed her against the wall a little rougher than was necessary, and I felt her tremble as my fingertips grazed her collarbone. Her groan was pleading as I bit down on her lip, her whimper fuelling my desire. I turned my attention to sucking slowly on her ear lobe and behind, knowing full well that the skin behind her ears was a spot that never failed to cripple her guard. Fingernails pressed harshly against my chest; I pushed her arms back. And then my hands slid against smooth skin and brushed under her skin…skidding through the boundaries of her bra. One touch sent her mouth encompassing my own, her tongue desperately attacking my mouth, trying to elicit in me the same response I had evoked in her.

Her shirt was off, my hands pressed under her short skirt and caressed higher until she released an audible squeak. Another garment discarded. She was impatient now, clawing at my own shirt until it flew over our heads. In an attempt at seduction, she dipped her fingers down the waistband of my jeans and scratched the area below. She dropped to her knees and pulled off the pants, and then the boxers, until she finally had access to bare skin. I leant against my wall, allowing a small moan to escape my lips as she made proper use of her mouth. I knew that little bit of encouragement was what she sought, and she eagerly let her teeth just graze skin.

I grabbed her forcefully and kissed her neck, massaging her bare chest… tumbled into the bed; I pushed myself on top of her. And then I tried to lose myself in her as I easily made ecstasy explode from her mind.

Another night of bliss to another mindless fuck. This one wasn't even good. But then, lately they all fell short.

To them, I was the finest of the school. Excellent pedigree, sharp intellect, dominating personality. I got what I wanted, always. That intrigued them. My looks were unmatched in the school, my wealth highly impressive. The reputation I carried was one that induced either hopeful sighs or condemning snorts…the latter usually utilizing feministic self righteous defenses to cover for the fact that they absolutely hated that they wanted me more than any of those who openly pined. Jealousy was common. It once amused me, now it merely bored and annoyed me. It was once an honour to be picked by me, but my exploits had expanded to include anyone with breasts who would spread their legs.

Call me anything you want to. I'm a bastard and I'm heartless. I'm cruel and I'm horrid. I'm a man whore and a pig. Tell me, why then do they still come? I garner an almost unholy amount of respect, from both genders. The males want to learn from me (and some want to be my opposite, appreciating me for the presence of the symbol of everything they can demonstrate they are not. For the women's sake, of course. Hypocritical asses.). The women know full well the ruthless form in which I execute my actions, they have heard the tearful stories from their friends, and yet… I am irresistible. Perhaps people would be able to keep their heads around me if not for the fact that I am the representation of all that is taboo. Every secret fantasy, every suppressed desire- I am the symbol for them all. I can make a girl orgasm in minutes, where some males would take a lifetime to learn. If met with resistance or stubbornness, I can flash one intense gaze, one partial smile… and the battle is lost.

Genuine? Never. I don't hide this fact. I'm a complete prick but I'm upfront about it. I don't lie. I don't make false promises. There's a smirk, a touch of the hand, and the unspoken but easily conveyed message that one hour with me will equate to an hour they will remember for the rest of their living years. It's not traditional; it's not pleasant for those who say that sex isn't just physical. I'm not one to take home for the parents, and though the school worships me, I don't give a fuck about any of them.

Some have asked me if I ever wonder what a real relationship would be like. They say its more fulfilling. I tell them in turn that they haven't experienced what I have. Money? I have a lot of it- but I don't need to spend a cent. I rarely go on actual dates, and the wealth behind my name is useful for the prestige more than the actual dollar signs.

I don't get lonely. I don't want an emotional anything.

A good fuck, that's all I go for.

I secretly wonder if I could ever indulge in something as ridiculous as a real connection with someone else. Irrational, impractical, a waste of time. That's all they are. No one in the school is going to end up marrying who they are dating at the moment.

What about love? A load of bull shit. Sex is love.

The blonde beside me in bed traced a pattern across my bare arms. For the moment, she can touch, feel, and explore any part of me as often as she desires. That is my promise. She takes full advantage, and I know that she's pretending that I won't hand her clothes to her in approximately ten minutes and step into my private shower, locking the door behind me in an unsubtle way to get her to leave.

Do I use girls? Certainly. But I let them use me for the hour where none of their inhibitions can stop them.

It's an intoxicating feeling, being able to have anyone and anything at any moment of any day. Total control is in my hands. All because I am a sex God. People who deny it are naïve. We live in a world where looks matter above all else.

I am a jackass. But still the blonde rakes her eyes over my bare body, licking my defined abdominal.

She's Tuesday night's quickie. No doubt she'll be relaying and gushing about me the moment she leaves. I wonder if she thinks she'll be the exception to my pattern. Almost all the women believe that they will be. They will be the one to change me; they will be the one to make me feel something. Love is for idiots, and these women are fools.

They say a Malfoy doesn't change. They say a Malfoy is incapable of change. I've always hated the word never. Defiant, yeah I am. But there are some things that are inevitable truths.

I am Draco Malfoy. From the blackened green dragon tattooed on my back shoulder to the blinding hair that falls across my gray eyes, I'm the Slytherin Prince. Not King, no- Kings get killed, Kings get poisoned and hated and plotted against. No, I am the Prince. People call me the Prince of Darkness. But then, people call me many things.

Confident, I swagger and strut, I smirk maliciously and leer mercilessly enough to make the brashest woman blush. I have enemies who are too afraid of me to act out and friends who are too afraid of losing my alliance to stop living on constant alert. Maybe in this way, I make lives worse for being in them.

I breathed in the scent of fresh water as I let the shower brush me in release. The mirror I looked into held the image of a smiling blonde. The smile is my own, but I don't believe anything I do can be genuine any more. The feeling is shrugged off, put in a file in my head and pushed away. My smile broadens. I like who I am.

Draco Malfoy. No one's Dragon.

* * *

A/N: Harry Potter's Draco Malfoy is JK Rowling's property. 


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